calling all stylish utahns

Okay, I need some help:

I'm throwing my sister a bridal shower. In Utah. In like four weeks.

HEEEEEEELLLLLLP!!!!!!!

Are you from Utah? Are you a genius? Do you have the magical ability to make stuff look like a million bucks when it actually cost next to nothing?

Oh, good. You're exactly who I'm looking for.

Any ideas? We'll probably be inviting around 15-20 people, and there's a good chance it will need to be on a Thursday evening, although a Saturday morning with all its brunch-y potential is much more preferable.

Miriam is incredibly awesome, inspiring, and endlessly sweet, and I'd like to throw her a shower to match her awesomeness. She's a little less modern and a little more romantic, so I'm thinking something kind of homemade and sweet and simple.

I thought a picnic would be awesome, but on a Thursday night I'm not sure that would work,and I thought maybe Ruth's Diner or the Tin Roof Cafe, but I'm not sure if 15-20 is too many people for something like that.

So, if you have any ideas.....I HEART YOU!!! I HEART YOU FOREVER!!! I HEART YOU TIMES FIFTY WITH A CHERRY ON TOP AND A PONY!!!!

Uh.....thanks.

paul and i agree to disagree

Guess what Paul did yesterday?

Go ahead, guess.

You'll never guess. Although I kinda want to know what you're guessing.

Okay, I'll tell you.

He went to a workout class with me.

I KNOW! I didn't think he would, either. Ever since I started going to my friend Sarah's workout studio, I've been telling Paul he should come with me, so he can have a birds-eye view of the torture I willingly submit to on a tri-weekly basis.

I'd be all like "You should totally come with me", and he'd be all like "Yeah, um, sure...maybe....sometime...." which I understood to mean "Not ever ever in a million years but I want you to feel validated".

And then, yesterday, he was like "Maybe I'll go with you today" and I was like "YES! COME WITH ME! IT WILL BE AWESOME!!! OHMYGOSH IT'S SO HARD!!! LET'S TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS!!!" (I get over-enthusiastic. I blame it on my lady-parts.)

So, he went with me, discovered that it was, indeed, super duper difficult, and announced that he had no use whatsoever for "those" types of exercises.

By "those" he means all the toe-pointing, draw a circle with your foot, hold your leg out at an angle and lift it slightly like a million times in a row exercises.

"When do you ever need to know how to do that? What purpose do those exercises serve?" he asked.

"They make my butt look nice" I said.

"But why? I NEVER NEED TO KNOW HOW TO DRAW A CIRCLE IN THE AIR WITH MY FOOT" he ranted, "but when do I need to run around people? Every day. When do I want to punch someone? Every. Other. Minute." He spoke slowly, reverently, with tremendous emphasis.

"I just want my butt to look nice" I said.

Paul glanced appreciatively at my derriere and, with that, we agreed to disagree.

cats aren't perfect

There's something wrong with our cats.

They won't stop making more fur and then shedding that fur.

This could be a problem. Except for they are just SO DARN CUTE. And except for we love them forever and think they are superior to all other cats.

Except for the fur thing.

Good grief, cats. We've got tumbleweeds rolling around our apartment. Paul's walking around with the Dirt Devil at his hip like it's a gun.

It's kinda sexy.

I guess I have our cats to thank.

paul's shopping list

"I'm going to Target" I said. "There's a list on the table. Write down what you need."

And so, Paul wrote down what he needed:

Nipple rings, blue or pink (if available)

Thong underwear, green or black (if available)

That Paul's a funny guy.

yippee- i-o-ki-yay

A week ago, I submitted a story for an online competition.

And today, I got an email telling me that my story has been shortlisted, and will go live on the website on July 1st. I think prizes are awarded sometime in August.

And I'm excited.

I told Paul and then we spent a few minutes running around in circles grinning. The website, called Smories, is based in the U.K. and specializes in stories geared towards children. You can view the stories for the previous competition by going to
http://www.smories.com/.

My story is about a girl named Harriet, who takes a pea as a pet. Maybe I'll post it. You'll be able to see it on the Smories website on July 1st.

Yippee!

Also, happy Friday. It's hot as blazes out here. Also that.

a conversation while watching so you think you can dance

Paul: Sometimes when I'm really happy I jump up so high I almost hit the ceiling.

Andrea: Yeah. Me, sometimes when I'm happy I do a triple-back-hand-jump-stand. And also it's hard because I'm just so pretty.

Paul: Yeah. I'm so pretty, too.

Andrea: It's just that we're both so pretty.

a body is a nice thing to have

I don't always feel that way.

I mean, don't get me wrong, this whole being alive and kicking thing is nice and all, but lately I've kind of been feeling a little mad at my body.

That kind of comes with the territory when you're dealing with infertility. My body doesn't do what it's supposed to, which is produce offspring. Spawn. Chillins. Childstuffs. Kiddy-pies.

And while I've tried to remind myself of the many other wonderful things the good Lord has blessed me with, as the years wear on and my womb remains a barren wasteland, I find myself getting kinda cranky with my body.

When I say cranky, I MEAN cranky. I'm all like "Uh, Body? Are you kidding me? I SERIOUSLY CAN'T WEAR MY PANTS?" and my body's all like "Uh, Andrea, remember when you pumped me all full of hormones and then ate twenty pints of Ben and Jerry's?" and then I'm all like "Oh...right, so....never mind."

But the cranky me hasn't been hanging around as much since, lately, I've been exercising.

Originally I began exercising because I just really, really wanted to be able to fit into my pants. Maybe I told you it was because I want to be healthy, and healthy is good, but so is wearing your pants.

More than that, though, I just felt like I had to DO SOMETHING. With capital letters. Accomplish something. Have something to show.

And so I've been exercising. And at first I think I expected my body to immediately shrink to a svelte, rock-hard celebrity-esque silhouette. Which didn't so much happen.

I'm actually kind of awful at this whole exercise thing. I'm clumsy and I sweat profusely and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.

But one day as I engaged in my bi-weekly battle with the treadmill, I was filled with this overwhelming and immediate, all-consuming gratitude for a body with the capacity for work, for action.

And isn't that just a ridiculous sort of miracle, that I have a body that can move and bend and sweat, however awkwardly?

I still can't wear my pants. I still don't have kids. But my body is building a strength already known to my mind and soul.

Thanks, body. Sorry I yelled at you.